THE INDEPENDENT
Sir Alex Ferguson had promised to forgo taking his frustration out on discarded kit in the dressing room and as he is a knight of the realm there is no reason to disbelieve him. But if there was ever a performance designed to have the Manchester United manager lashing out at the nearest innocent boot it was this one.
His team have explored low altitudes this season but they reached new depths in terms of inaccuracy and sloppiness at the Reebok and had they not been playing the Premiership's worst team when it comes to the last minute they would have succumbed to their sixth Premiership defeat of the season. Bolton brought traditional virtues of passion and energy to this Greater Manchester derby; jaded United brought reputation, little more.
They escaped with a draw only because Ole Gunnar Solskjaer grabbed a late goal, but Bolton, who had their first double over the near, if not dear, neighbours since 1979 snatched from their grasp, could hardly say they have not been warned.
THE OBSERVER
For 89 minutes of this local spat, Manchester United performed with as much inspiration and determination to suggest the club doctor would soon be clean out of Steri-strips. After an anaemic display, Bolton Wanderers were on course to celebrate an admirable double over the men from Old Trafford. Mere seconds of normal time remained when United summoned a rare break of genuine menace. David Beckham, who had been aimless all game, clipped a killer cross towards the near post and Ole Gunnar Solskjaer, who had been a passenger, rapped in an equaliser United scarcely deserved.
Bolton's record crowd here were aghast that all their team's superiority had been slashed at the last. An opportunity to gain breathing space at the bottom of the table had been whipped away. Even more frustrating was the feeling that, but for some haphazard finishing, the game could have been long out of United's sight before Solskjaer twisted the knife. To make matters worse, the chance arose because of what Sam Allardyce called 'frivolous' defending.
Sam Allardyce was galled. Throwing away hard-earned points has become an unwelcome habit for his team. They are so proficient, they could write the book. 'How to shoot yourself in the foot at football matches on a regular basis,' he lamented, before issuing a stark warning: 'If we don't eradicate this soon, it is going to cost us our place in the Premiership. That was as well as we've played all season, but we have got to see games out for three points.'
THE TELEGRAPH
Thus, very often, is the difference between top and bottom demonstrated. Bolton keep dropping points as the final whistle approaches and Allardyce, asked if we had witnessed a familiar story, replied: "You mean, how to shoot yourself in the foot on a regular basis in the last minute of a football match? It's becoming something that, if not eradicated, could cost us a place in the Premiership."
Yet, as Ferguson readily conceded, they looked a useful side. He could not, however, resist a sideswipe at the decision, made on police advice, to kick off at noon. It was, he said, "perfect" for Bolton. "We've played four games since they played their last one and had little time for recovery [after playing Juventus at Old Trafford last Wednesday]."
So, can three hours matter so much? Ferguson will no doubt be glad of the bonus when his men, having enjoyed the benefit of two days more than Liverpool in which to turn their minds from Europe to the Worthington Cup final, take the field in Cardiff next Sunday.
THE TIMES
With 11 seconds of normal time remaining, Sir Alex Ferguson must have been tempted to give them all the boot. Another headline-hogging week in the life of the doyen of management and media manipulation was on the point of culminating in cringe-inducing embarrassment yesterday when relegation-threatened Bolton were desperately close to completing the double over their exalted near-neighbours.
The clock was about to tick over to 90 minutes when David Beckham scampered to the byline on the right and cut the ball back for Ole Gunnar Solskjaer to plunder a last-gasp equaliser which flattered United and was scant justice to Bolton, who had been the better team throughout. More cohesive and assertive, they deserved a victory which would have done wonders for their survival prospects. Instead, as at West Bromwich a fortnight earlier, a fatal loss of the concentration they had maintained so well for 89 minutes cost them two points.
United were ordinary to an extraordinary degree. Seasoned press box observers, whose brief is to watch them every week, could not recall a more shoddy performance. Their passing was inaccurate, the shape of the team poor and they were second best. It takes a vivid imagination to envisage them overtaking Arsenal, whose play is never as artless and inarticulate as this.
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